


Ketch Her If You Can

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 07:50:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11331537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: Dean’s not happy when Ketch and the reader start flirting. Ketch seems interested in her, until the truth comes out, then he shows his true colors.





	Ketch Her If You Can

 

Dean didn’t like them, the British Men of Letters. He didn’t trust them, even with the assurances from Sam and Mary that what they were doing was the right thing, that they were helping people, saving people. He knew, in his gut, that there was more to them than met the eye, that they were up to something; He just didn’t know what.

The day Ketch met Y/N, that feeling in his gut intensified. He didn’t like the way Ketch smiled at her, a little lecherous, a lot flirtatious; Dean didn’t like the way his voice dropped an octave when he talked to her, like he was trying to impress her or something. But what he disliked even more was the way Y/N smiled back and the way her eyes lit up with interest. It set him on edge.

Of course, it wasn’t like he could say anything. Y/N was her own person; in no way, shape, or form did she belong to Dean. Sure, he’d expressed interest in her in the past, or you know, he thought he did, dropping a line here or there, tossing out a wink every now and then, things that generally had women falling at his feet. Funny enough, it didn’t seem to work on her. But as soon as that British asshole opened his mouth and started to talk, she was practically drooling. Must be the accent.

“Dean?” Sam nudged his brother. “Dude, what’s your problem?”

Dean dragged his eyes away from Ketch sitting at the library table beside Y/N, one hand on the back of her chair, his fingers resting on her shoulder, his knees pressed right up against her leg, leaning over her, intently listening to whatever the hell it was she was saying. 

“What?” he growled. “Nothing.”

“Yeah, right,” Sam chuckled. “You’re seething, you’re literally grinding your teeth, I’d bet a million bucks that you’re gnawing on the inside of your cheek. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Dean tipped his chin in the direction of the two people yakking it up in the library. He desperately wanted to walk up the stairs, grab Ketch by his stupid black leather jacket, and throw him and his goddamn accent out the door. He would derive great pleasure in dragging him up the metal staircase, reveling in the the thunk of his body parts hitting those stairs as he threw him out. Dean’s fingers twitched with the need to do it.

“That’s what I thought,” Sam shook his head. “You know Dean, all of these problems would go away if you just told her how you feel.”

“I have,” he grumbled. 

“Um, I don’t think cryptic one-liners and winking at her when you’re drunk count as ‘telling her’ Dean,” Sam said.

“Shut up,” Dean snapped, pushing himself away from the table. He’d had enough of listening to Sam tell him what he already knew and enough of Ketch flirting with Y/N. He cleared his throat as he walked up the stairs, though it didn’t deter Ketch even a little, he merely looked up, a grin on his stupid face.

“‘Ello, Dean,” he smirked. “You never told me you knew such a lovely young lady. She’s quite the charmer.”

Y/N blushed and giggled - she freaking giggled - put her hand on Ketch’s knee and squeezed. Dean was pretty sure she’d never giggled in response to anything he’d said. He took a step forward, barely aware he was doing it, not until Sam grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“Dude,” he muttered. “Cool it.”

Dean took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the table. “What’d you find?” he asked, pointing at the iPad in front of Y/N.

“Arthur found us a case in Missouri,” Y/N answered.

Dean clenched his jaw and instantly regretted it when he heard Sam snort behind him. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He was going to have a brain embolism. Ketch was going to be the reason he died. Great.

“Arthur?” he grumbled.

Y/N pushed herself out of her chair, her iPad in hand. She patted Ketch on the shoulder. “Yeah, Arthur,” she smiled. “Look, I’m gonna go pack a bag. I’ll be ready in less than 10 minutes.” She disappeared down the hall.

“She’s a lovely girl,” Ketch murmured, watching her go.

“Ketch,” Dean snapped.

“Hm?” the British douchebag hummed, turning to look at him.

“Back off,” Dean replied. “She’s spoken for.”

“By you?” Ketch laughed. “Highly unlikely, Dean. She is not your type, nor does she seem to have any interest in you.”

“Look, Ketch, just, lay off, okay?” Sam interjected. “There’s something you don’t -”

“Well, it seems to me that if there was truly an interest, something would have been done about it.” Ketch rose to his feet, arms crossed, facing Dean. “Seems as though she’s fair game.”

“Y/N is not fair game, okay?” Dean growled, rolling his eyes. “Leave her alone.”

“I think I will let her decide if I should leave her alone,” Ketch stated. “After all, she’s a grown woman.” He moved to step around Dean, but he put his arm out, stopping him, his hand closing around his upper arm.

“I said, leave her alone,” Dean repeated. He had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well. Especially if Ketch found out the truth about her, about what she really was. His fists involuntarily clenched just thinking about it.

“What are you two fighting about?” Y/N asked as she came up the stairs. She tossed her duffle bag on the table. “I thought we were all going to try to get along?”

“This is ridiculous,” Ketch sighed heavily. “Fighting over a woman. Really, the choice belongs to Y/N.”

This was it, the moment he died from the brain embolism caused by Ketch. Motherfucker had to go and open his big mouth. This was going to be awkward.

“You’re fighting over me?” Y/N laughed nervously. “Seems a bit unnecessary. I, uh, I mean, um…” She blew out a breath, the hair on her forehead moving with as she exhaled. “Look, don’t make me throw some crazy spell on you two to make you play nice, okay? It’s too early to be using my powers. I haven’t even had coffee yet.”

Ketch straightened up, his back ramrod straight. His eyes danced up and down the length of Y/N’s body, looking for whatever telltale sign he felt he must have unknowingly missed. His fists clenched and unclenched against his thighs, his head tipped inquisitively to one side.

“What did you say?” He turned to look at her, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Powers, love? What powers?”

Dean stepped forward, easing himself in beside Y/N, his hand in the small of her back. He caught Sam’s eye, tipping his head slightly. Sam stepped to his right, blocking the exit to the war room.

Y/N took a step back, closer to Dean, eyeing the Brit warily. “I-I thought you knew. I’m, well, I’m a witch.”

“Bloody hell,” Ketch sighed heavily, shaking his head. “I really wish you hadn’t told me that.” He pulled a knife from the inside pocket of his jacket, spinning it in his hand.

“D-Dean?” Y/N stammered, stepping to her left, moving so she was standing behind him.

“Y/N, go!” Dean roared, the sound echoing off the thick bunker walls. “Now!”

Ketch lunged for her, one hand twisting in the back of the flannel she was wearing, tearing the fabric down the middle as she sprinted for the stairs. Ketch tried to follow her, but Sam stepped in front of him.

“Ketch, wait,” Sam reached for him, but Ketch swung, clocking him in the chin, causing him to stumble backwards and hit his head on one of the bookshelves, falling to the floor. As soon as the younger Winchester hit the ground, Ketch sprinted out of the library and through the war room, screaming Y/N’s name.

“Fuck,” Dean muttered. He moved toward Sam, but his brother waved him away.

“I’m fine, go stop him,” Sam yelled.

Dean could hear Ketch yelling, calling Y/N, promising not to hurt her, promising her that he only wanted to talk to her. He had to find him, had to stop him before he found Y/N. He rounded the corner leading to the garage and there she was, moving down the hall toward the dungeon.

“Y/N!” he called.

Startled, she spun around, her eyes wide, confused, tears running down her face. Dean had almost reached her when she screamed, Ketch grabbing her from behind, yanking her toward him. Dean swore and lunged, his arms going around her waist, wrestling her free of the other man’s grip, pushing her behind him.

Ketch’s knife came up, pressing against Dean’s throat. “Get out of my way, Dean,” he ordered.

“No,” Dean snapped. “You’re not touching her. You’re leaving. Without her.”

“She’s a monster -”

“She is not a monster,” Dean said. “She’s a person, just like you and me.”

“No, she is not like us, Dean. That is where you are very, very wrong. The things she does, the things she knows, well, she could kill us. All of us. Now, get out of my way or I will kill you.”

Dean leaned into the knife. “Do it. Because that is the only way you’re getting to Y/N. I will not let you touch her. Not now, not ever.”

Ketch’s face changed, the mask slipping for just a second, long enough for Dean to see the fear and doubt in his eyes, the doubt making him hesitate, hesitate long enough for Sam to hit him from behind, sending him to the floor.

* * *

Her door was open, but he still stopped outside and tapped softly on the jamb. She was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She sat up and smiled at him, though it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Hey,” Dean murmured. “You okay?”

“You mean since Ketch threatened to kill me?” she muttered. “Yeah, I’m great. Where is he anyway?”

“Sam’s driving him to middle of nowhere and leaving him there, locked in the trunk of his car,” he explained.

“He’s not going to stop, Dean,” Y/N sighed. “Now that he knows about me, he won’t stop.” She dropped her head into her hands, a strangled sob coming from her.

He hurried to her side and pulled her into his arms, hugging her to his chest. She wrapped her hands in his shirt and pulled him down onto the bed beside her, burying her face against his shoulder. 

“Don’t leave me, Dean,” she whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I promise.”

 


End file.
